


Square One

by schneestern



Category: Bandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Community: bandombigbang, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-30
Updated: 2011-08-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 17:09:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1395889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schneestern/pseuds/schneestern
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Apocalypse AU. After a disaster of unknown origin, Vicky-T and Brendon are the only survivors. They make their way across the country to try and get to Chicago, where, hopefully, Patrick is still alive. On the way they must come to terms with what happened, as well as the loss of their friends and the everyday life in a post-apocalyptic world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Square One

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Coldplay song of the same name. 
> 
> Huge thanks go to woollysocks for being a fantastic beta and also thanks to languisity for being awesome.
> 
> Thanks also to my amazing mixer mayqueen517 and artist dwg!
> 
> This fic has been a long time in the making. I started writing it before Panic! broke up, but chose to set it after the break-up. There are some random allusions to other movies and TV shows, bonus points if you find them.

They don't talk for three days.   
  
After.   
  
It seems like the thing to do. Victoria can't think of a single topic anyway. Everything involves things she's carefully ignoring, sharp thoughts she doesn't want to put a name to.  
  
All she thinks about is the road and the car and the steering wheel under her palms.   
  
And Brendon sitting next to her, hands folded loosely in his lap. There's no expression on his face, look as blank as the blue sky.   
  
She wonders idly if she looks the same.  
  
The beat-up station wagon rumbles along the highway, the only sound for miles and miles except for their breathing. It takes some getting used to, this quiet world. Just like the slick, black dust settling on everything. It coats the car and the streets and what's left of the trees.   
  
Victoria looks sideways and it's on Brendon too, black caught in his eyelashes, his face, his clothes, his hair. Everything has a thin film of dirt and it clings. It doesn't come off.   
  
She tried.  
  
When they left they didn't take anything except for the car. Eventually they had to smash the front window in, because the wipers were no match for the dust that kept whirling around them in thick clouds. As they get farther east the dust thins out and it gets easier to drive.  
  
Brendon cut his leg when they destroyed the window; Victoria can see the dark red on his torn jeans when she looks over the next time. She has to fight the urge to touch the wound, to have her hands come away with blood. To see that Brendon's really real. She feels weird just thinking it, but in the quiet of her head the thought is there anyway, small and comforting in a way.  
  
They're still here.  
  


\--

  
  
"I'm sorry. We should get a better car," Brendon eventually says when they hit a bigger town.   
  
He parks the car and Victoria turns to him. The leather seat under her squeaks. Brendon looks tired, looks how Victoria feels. It's the kind of tired that settles deep in every fiber of your body and makes you feel heavier than you actually are.  
  
"Are you sure?"   
  
Brendon had insisted on the car, even though she'd told him it was going to be impractical. He told her he'd come to the party in the car and the implication was clear.   
  
 _They_  had come in the car, all four of them. Together.  
  
"Yeah," he says, now, quietly. He absently runs his fingers over a spot on the dashboard, a brownish coffee stain that must have been there a long time. Victoria looks away and swallows hard.  
  
"We should drive until we find one that works," she finally offers, and she's still not used to the way her voice sounds now. Too loud in all the silence, constantly scratchy from the dirt in the air.  
  
Brendon wordlessly turns the motor back on and they keep driving, past empty houses full of dusty nothing.  
  


\--

  
  
The first car they find that still works is a van. It used to be white and it still has enough gas to get them far enough. The keys are in the ignition, thick swirls of the black dust all across the front seats. Brendon slides the door at the side of the van open and Victoria knows, knows right then, that she can't get into this car.  
  
It smells like spilled beer and pizza and old socks. She takes a step back and pulls her jacket tighter across her chest, even though it's mild outside, sun shining steadily down on them.  
  
Brendon turns to her, eyes big and dark. He gives her a long, considering look then turns back to look at the van. They stand there and Victoria's eyes catch on Brendon's hand clenching and unclenching around the car keys with the little Vegas sign on the chain.  
  
"Brendon," she finally says, and doesn't know how to finish the sentence. She sees him nod his head.  
  
"I don't think the tires have enough air," he says roughly, and she feels relieved because he understands.   
  
On the way back to their car Brendon touches the back of Victoria's hand. It's a brief, warm touch, but it sparks out over her whole skin, goosebumps spreading out from where he touched her.   
  
When they sit back in the car, she scoots a little closer, so she doesn't forget how warm he is.  
  


\--

  
  
They find a better car eventually. It's a minivan, a family car, parked inside an open garage. The keys are on the floor next to the driver's side.   
  
Victoria picks them up and shakes them to get the dust off. The clatter of the metal echoes in the garage. When she opens the car door a small cloud spills out and curls around her feet. The tank's almost full and the motor springs to life immediately. It hums in an even rhythm that's nothing like the station wagon.  
  
She shuts the motor off again and says, "We should see if we can find a broom to get the dust out of here."   
  
Brendon leans forward on the other side of the car and looks inside. The black stuff is knee-high in there, spread over everything like a protective blanket.  
  
He nods and they head into the house, front door standing open invitingly.  
  
Inside, the sun barely manages to pierce through the black that's settled on all the windows. They find a broom and on a whim decide to check the kitchen. There's a storage room with cans of food and Brendon smiles suddenly and produces a can opener from one of the cupboards, picks out a can that says  _pineapple_.  
  
Victoria looks at him as he awkwardly gets the can open and then fishes a handful of pieces out of the fruit juice. They're covered in the black stuff dripping from his fingers but Brendon doesn't care and pops them in his mouth.  
  
"Brendon, what--" she begins and he finally looks at her. The smile is still on his face and it looks so foreign there that for a second she blinks at Brendon, barely recognizing him.  
  
"I love pineapple," he says, eating more still, juice dripping from his fingers to the floor. "When we were in South Africa on tour, we used to hang out in the sun and have beer. He told me about one of his old cats who was called Pineapple. Pineapple was afraid of toes. It was the most hilarious thing. I always have to think of it when I eat pineapple."  
  
Victoria keeps looking at his smile and realizes it's the longest he's spoken since they set out. She reaches for the can too and fishes out a few pieces. They're too sweet, the artificial metal-can smell heavy in the still air.   
  
It's the best pineapple Victoria's ever had.   
  
She licks the juice from her fingers where it's clumped into a thick sludge with the black dust. Her hand bumps Brendon's when they reach for the can at the same time and she smiles at him, feeling giddy and irrationally happy. She thinks of Pineapple the cat who was afraid of toes and of Brendon in South Africa with the others.  
  
The smile slowly disappears from her face.  
  


\--

  
  
"I miss the crowds," Brendon says, leaning against the car as the tank fills. The meter slowly ticks away, useless now that there's no one left to take their money.  
  
"Me too," she says after a moment. Looking out over the plains she can see nothing but soft black in all directions. In some places there are shapes, flowers drowning in a sea of dust.  
  
Brendon takes another sip from the bottle of beer he got from inside the gas station, then lowers it again. He absently taps the underside of the bottle against his belt buckle. It almost sounds like he's trying to harmonize with the click-click noises of the gas pump.   
  
Victoria looks at the beer in her own hand and takes another long gulp. It's started to warm up and she thinks about throwing the bottle away.  
  
"At one of the shows there was this guy," Brendon says, still tapping the bottle against his belt. He sounds thoughtful and far away. "He was standing in the first row, almost got crushed by the people. I think it may have been Honda Civic or something. I don't know."  
  
Victoria nods even though he's not looking at her.   
  
On the horizon a black cloud swirls up from the ground and then resettles like nothing happened.   
  
She wonders if there are still any birds left.  
  
"We were playing a song, one of the new ones. A happy one. He looked up at the stage and started crying. He was smiling but there were tears running down his face. And I thought this matters to them. What I do here, it matters." There's a pause that sounds as if there's more, as if he wants to add more. But Brendon doesn't speak.  
  
After a moment Victoria leans around him and pulls the nozzle out of the tank. Some of the gas spills over their shoes, wet splash on the dry ground. She puts it back to the pump and screws the lid of the tank shut.  
  
Then she says, "That never happened to me. No one ever cried."  
  
Brendon turns his head to her as if he'd forgotten she was there.  
  
"What?" Maybe he'd even forgotten he'd been talking.  
  
Victoria carefully puts her bottle down next to the gas pump. She straightens back up and squints into the sun, trying to see where the road goes.   
  
"It mattered though," she says almost casually, as if she doesn't care about it at all. She raises her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. Brendon hums and it almost sounds like he's listening.   
  
"It mattered--to us." She says the last word a little too loud, as if it's a concept that's hard to grasp now.  
  
Brendon looks at her, wipes sweat from his forehead, leaving black streaks. "You wanna go see if they have M&M's?" She nods and starts towards the store. Brendon catches up to her and puts a hand on the back of her neck. He squeezes, a little too hard, almost like he's used to doing it to someone else.  
  
Victoria appreciates the gesture anyway.  
  


\--

  
  
They stock up on food once in a while. Only canned stuff really. Victoria's pretty sure she will never get used to the stale taste on everything. It's like the dust is on the food too, even though they mostly manage to keep it off. Sometimes she thinks the whole world is muted now, not just the sound, the taste too, smells. Feelings.  
  
Without meaning to they've started amassing a wide variety of things in the back of the van. There's food but there's also clothes, random tools they never use, an array of batteries and flashlights as well as a couple of weapons. That last one had been Victoria's idea even though they both know they don't need weapons. Not really.   
  
Not anymore.  
  
There's also a small, lumpy mattress and a few pillows and blankets. It's cramped but it's better than sleeping on the front seats. It took her some getting used to, sleeping so close to someone she barely knows. Even on the bus, during tours, she always had her own space. It had been cramped too, but she'd had it to herself.  
  
"We manage pretty well," Brendon remarks one day, vaguely waving at the back of the van.   
  
That's when the front tire blows out.   
  
Victoria hears herself scream, sees Brendon desperately try to steady the car. The van veers wildly from side to side, out of control. Brendon carefully hits the brakes, trying to slow them down without flipping them over. After what seems like forever the car finally skids to a halt.   
  
Around them darkness descends, black angry cloud surrounding them from all sides.   
  
Victoria slowly lets go of the upholstery, uncurling her fingers. Her ears are still ringing from the loud bang, heart only slowly going back to its usual rhythm. She can hear Brendon breathing hard and leans over to pluck his hands from the steering wheel. His knuckles slowly turn from white to a healthier color.  
  
"The airbags didn't work," Brendon says and looks at her, blinking rapidly, like he can't quite believe they're still alive.  
  
"We don't have a spare tire," Victoria tells him and thinks about how ironic it would have been.   
  
If they'd died.   
  
Here, now, just weeks after the rest of them had.  
  


\--

  
  
"Do you think it's everyone?" Brendon asks her. She shrugs, keeps watching him drive, wind coming in through the open window. His hair is blowing back and away from his head. It's grown longer now.   
  
They're passing through farm land, the black dust only a thin sheen here. Licorice, Brendon calls it. It was caviar when they were passing through a major city two days ago. Victoria tries not to name it.   
  
She doesn't like to think about it for too long.  
  
"I don't know. Maybe." The sun's shining right in her face and even with the sunglasses, a little too big and crooked, she can barely see the road.  
  
"I think it's everyone," Brendon says decisively, almost as if he's creating certainties for himself like little islands of rationality.  
  
"It doesn't work that way," Victoria says and Brendon looks at her with a puzzled expression on his face. She doesn't bother to explain.  
  
They're silent for a while.   
  
There's only the soft sound of the motor and the boxes in the back rhythmically bumping together. The tire they replaced runs smoothly as if nothing happened. The black leather of the dashboard is hot under Victoria's feet and the sweat running down the soles makes it feel like the car is melting away under her touch. It reminds her of a surrealist painting. It makes her want to take a long, cold shower too. Maybe get all of her skin clean from the black.  
  
"Everyone but Patrick." Victoria gives Brendon a surprised look, startled out of her thoughts about showers and clean water.  
  
"Do you think it was him?" she finally asks Brendon.  
  
"I don't know." He raises his hand to wipe the sweat off his forehead. It comes away black. "Maybe."  
  
"I think," she says and hesitates. She looks at the horizon where the sun is so bright that lines blur and she has to squint. "I think," she repeats, "I think it's everyone though."  
  
The car jerks a little as Brendon speeds up. "I think Patrick's still there."  
  
"In Chicago." It's not a question even though she meant it to be one.  
  
Brendon answers her anyway. "Yes," he says and it shows how much time they've spent together when Victoria realizes his voice wavers at the end. Like he's afraid that he's wrong.   
  
That they're driving towards the same nothing they're leaving behind.  
  
Victoria thinks of the text they got on her phone, after. After it happened. She thinks of the fact that Patrick wasn't there with everyone else.  
  
She thinks  _please, please, please_.   
  
Out loud she says "You're right. Okay, yeah, okay."  
  
Brendon touches her knee, flexes his fingers like he wants to squeeze it but doesn't follow the motion through. His fingers sweat through her jeans, too hot to bear.  
  
Victoria doesn't say anything.  
  


\--

  
  
Victoria makes a fire for them that night. It gets colder when the sun goes down, but not much, temperature never quite changing from day to night. They sit outside and share a bottle of cider, grilled cheese sandwiches, cookies. And it almost feels normal, like they're on a camping trip, like any moment now the others will sit down next to them and share tour stories.  
  
"What are you thinking about?" Brendon asks her, head tilted curiously. The light of the fire paints shadows over his smudged face. Somehow it looks like he's wearing a mask.  
  
Victoria turns to look at him, Brendon's face closer than she expected. She thinks about lying, decides not to. "The others."  
  
Brendon doesn't need to ask who she means. "Me too," he says and he doesn't look away. A few weeks ago he would have and Victoria feels the insistent urge to hug him and tell him it's going to be okay. But she doesn't.   
  
It's one of their unspoken rules: no lies, not about what happened. For some reason that makes it more bearable, facing reality head on like mavericks in a Hollywood movie who don't fear the big, hard facts.  
  
"We went on a camping trip once," she tells him and smiles, sees an answering grin tug at the corner of his lips, because he understands what it means to do things together, as a band. "It was a catastrophe. The guys forgot the tents and we all had to sleep in the van."   
  
She thinks about it, can almost still smell the wood, the sweat on their skin. "We wrote some good music though. One of them brought pot and we all smoked up." She laughs and shakes her head, remembering how gone she was, how incredibly happy.   
  
"I think at some point I was lying outside with one of the guys, I think it was Ry--" she catches herself before she can say the name.   
  
Brendon holds out the cider bottle to her and their fingers brush when she takes it. Victoria takes a swallow and feels calmer then.   
  
"We were outside and he told me that stars were really just glowing compasses, leading you towards the best possible situations. The ones you could never ever come up with yourself. We even wrote a song. I forgot the lyrics but I can still--" and she hums the melody, half forgotten but it all comes back once she actively tries to remember.  
  
For a while she sits there, humming the melody, repeating it over and over until she trails off.  
  
Brendon takes another cookie from the package, pokes at the fire with his stick.  
  
"It was nice," Victoria finally offers, for lack of anything better to say. "I never was a huge part of the song writing process. I mean, I was there, but the others did most of it. But I always felt like I was included, like I was as much a part of the writing as everything else."  
  
"I know what you mean," Brendon finally says. There are crumbs in the corner of his mouth and Victoria reaches out and wipes them away without thinking. Brendon turns towards her and follows the movement of her hand with his eyes before he meets her gaze.   
  
"We used to hole up in a room together, you know? Just him and me. They knew we needed that sometimes. We played cover songs some days and others we fought about single notes and words. But we needed that to--" he waves his hand around and she supplies, "to grow."   
  
He nods and looks towards the fire again. "When we came back out and played them what we had they always made it perfect. They'd add bass and drums and it just...worked. I missed that most of all after the split."  
  
Brendon sounds like he wants to say more, explain more, but he doesn't.   
  
"How's your cut?" Victoria asks him, feeling a deep unwillingness to let the conversation die down, even if Brendon doesn't seem to want to talk more about his band.  
  
"Better," Brendon says without hesitating. "It itches a bit, but I guess it'll be fine." Victoria reaches for him without asking for permission and pulls at his jeans. Brendon doesn't say anything, pushes his leg towards her. The wound does look better, glass shard from the car's front window out fast enough to avoid inflammation.   
  
Hesitantly, Victoria slides her hand up Brendon's leg. He's wearing flip flops and his bare skin under her fingers is damp with sweat, coarse hair rough against her palm. The wound has scabbed over and she touches the edge of it, presses cautiously. Brendon hisses and Victoria pulls her hand away like she's been burned, "Sorry, I'm sorry, I don't know why I did that." She doesn't meet his eyes but she can't bring herself to move away either, hand hovering over his ankle.  
  
"Can you--" Brendon coughs. "Can you--again?" Her eyes snap up to his and there's something there, hot and immediate. Victoria touches his skin again, not quite sure what the hell is happening, what they're doing. She slides her fingers around the wound, staring at the dark reddish-brown of the scab. Then she puts two fingers on it, rough, hard texture under her fingers and presses in. Brendon hisses but he doesn't pull away or tell her to stop. Victoria bites her bottom lip and moves her fingers over the wound slowly, insistent press against it down-down-down. She can hear Brendon's breathing, a little deeper, a little faster.  
  
There's a loud crack as the firewood collapses inside, burning a little brighter just for a second, before it goes back to an even orange glow.  
  
Victoria lets go of Brendon's leg and gets up. She stands there and looks down at him, his eyes firmly meeting hers. They breathe together, once, twice, before he gets up too, a definite space between them now, separating them.  
  
"I'll get the bed ready," he says and that edge is still there in his voice. She nods, "I'll get the leftovers together." He nods too. They stand there, neither of them moving. Brendon licks his lips. Then he turns around and walks towards the van. In the flicker of the fire Victoria can see his pant leg slipping down over his calf as he walks, naked skin disappearing from sight.  
  
She kneels down and starts packing up the rest of the food without looking around again. When she's done, she checks the stones around the fire, leaves it to burn out. By the time she crawls into the back of the car Brendon's already lying under the blankets, facing the wall.  
  
His eyes are closed but Victoria can tell he's not asleep.  
  


\--

  
  
They meet others eventually. Once, twice. It should be more shocking but the first time it happens is almost casually surreal. They drive down the highway, dodging empty cars in their path. And then there's another car moving on the other lane, opposite direction, windows dark and smudged. For a brief moment the cars are next to each other and Victoria can make out vague shapes, people. Then they're past each other.   
  
Brendon actually says, "Huh," out loud but they don't stop.   
  
Neither does the other car.   
  


\--

  
  
The second time it's at a convenience store. Victoria turns a corner, cans with food stacked in her cart and comes face to face with a young girl. She's nineteen, maybe twenty. Victoria doesn't scream. She thinks maybe she should. The girl stares at her and she stares back. They stand there for what feels like a long time, sizing each other up. The girl is dirty, clothes torn in places. There are scratches on her face, long and deep. Her eyes have dark rings under them. Victoria opens her mouth to ask the girl's name but she can't make herself speak. Somewhere in the store there's a bang and then Victoria clearly hears Brendon say, "Holy  _shit_ ," and then someone else's voice, quieter.   
  
It's what makes them move, finally, and they push their carts past one another in the empty aisle without saying a word. Victoria wants to believe she would have asked the girl to join them, if she'd been alone. But the guilty truth is, even if the girl had been alone Victoria wouldn't have asked her. Something about her eyes, her face, had scared Victoria.  
  
Deep down Victoria knows it's because she sees the same face in the rear view mirror every time she drives.  
  


\--

  
  
Without meaning to, they establish a routine. Brendon drives during the day because he isn't bothered by the constant sunshine. Victoria drives at night when they need to keep moving because the ashes are too high, too suffocating to stop.   
  
They have a pattern of when to stop for food, for fuel, for a break. They know when to leave the other one alone, but they always stick together, some gut survival instinct that's always at the forefront now, like a constant adrenaline rush that they got used to.  
  
One day, squinting into the ever present sunshine, Victoria thinks that it's almost like touring, this. They drive and they stop and they work through the routine. It feels familiar somehow, even though nothing about this is. All that's missing is the music and she reaches for the stereo automatically before she remembers there's nothing there. Not even static.   
  
Brendon still catches her hand twitching forward. He smiles, tired and lopsided, because he understands. It happens to him too.  
  
They unpack on the empty parking lot of a supermarket that night, the layer of ashes so thin you can see the white marks for the parking spaces underneath.  
  
Victoria grabs for the box of food and Brendon steps up next to her, pushes her aside. He lifts the box out of the car and turns around to carry it to a bench nearby. Victoria turns around to watch him go and sees him struggle with it.  
  
She leans further into the car, pulling the bag with the plates and cutlery towards her. The cheap china clinks together, sound echoing out of the car. Victoria lifts it up and over her shoulder, when Brendon appears next to her and immediately grabs for the bag.  
  
“Let me take that for you,” he says and pulls the bag out of her hands before she can answer.  
  
Victoria gives Brendon a sharp look, but he's too busy carrying the bag over to the bench to notice.  
  
They sit down on the bench in the parking lot, yellowing sun slowly sinking down.   
  
Brendon heats up some canned chicken soup on the small portable cooker. He pours it out for both of them and they eat quietly. There's not a sound except for the ones they're making, air dead and quiet around them.   
  
Victoria bites down on something hard and spits a tiny chicken bone into her open palm. It glistens from her spit and Brendon gives her a curious sideways look.  
  
“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, spoon hovering in mid-air.  
  
She looks at him. “Sure. Why wouldn't I be?”  
  
Brendon doesn't answer and looks down at his soup, like he doesn't quite know what to do with her answer.  
  
Victoria drops the bone on the asphalt. A thin cloud of ash spreads out and then settles over the bone. For one sharp moment Victoria actually expects the bone to dissolve under the ash.  
  
It doesn't, of course.  
  
They finish their meal and pack up. Brendon cleans the plates with some water they collected.  
  
When he lifts the box with food to carry it to the car Victoria snaps.  
  
She gets up and stands in his way. “What the hell, Brendon?”  
  
He gives her a puzzled look.  
  
The anger goes away as fast as it came. Victoria feels tired. “You need to stop trying to protect me. I'm not made of glass.”  
  
“I don't know what you mean,” Brendon says but he can't meet her eyes and she knows he knows exactly what she means.  
  
Victoria takes the box out of Brendon's hands and he lets her without saying anything.  
  
She walks back to the car and slides the box into the back. Next to her Brendon sets down the bag with the plates.  
  
“I'm sorry,” he says. “I just thought, I could make it,” he hesitates, “easier. For you.”  
  
Victoria's heart drops and she meets Brendon's eyes. He has his hands stuffed in his jeans pockets. The fabric is starting to fray at the edges from wear and there are holes in the knees.   
  
“You can't change what happened by treating me like I'm fragile.”  
  
Brendon gives her a hard look. “I'm not treating you like you're fragile. I'm taking care of you.”  
  
Victoria stares at him as Brendon turns away, closes the back of the car and walks towards the driver's side of the car.   
  
He opens the door but then he doesn't get in. He just stands there.  
  
Victoria looks at his back, the sunburn that peeks out from under the neckline of his shirt. In the distance the sun disappears behind the horizon.  
  
Finally, she walks to where Brendon's standing. He steps aside and lets her climb in before closing the door. He walks around to the other side of the car and slips into the passenger seat.  
  
The door shuts with a resounding snap.  
  
“I'm sorry,” Victoria says and Brendon gives her a small smile.  
  
“Don't worry about it,” he says.  
  
Victoria turns the key in the ignition and the car rumbles to life.  
  
When they stop for the night a few miles later, Victoria pushes the spare tire and the boxes from their mattress and lays it out in the back of the car.   
  
Brendon lays out the pillows next to each other.  
  


\--

  
  
Victoria sleeps badly. She didn't, before, but now it seems like she can't quite get her body to rest. She spends a lot of nights staring up at the car's ceiling, making herself think about nothing at all. Even though she's gotten a lot of practice, she hasn't gotten any better at it. Sometimes she manages to think of good things, playing in the garden behind her parent's house when she was seven, that first time on stage when she clung to her keytar rather than actually playing it. But most of the time she thinks about what's not there anymore. The laughter of the guys. Her dog, left alone at the house. The others at the party. Their screaming. And the silence, after.  
  
She doesn't cry; it feels too big to just cry about. Usually she just feels like the ashes have finally settled in her lungs, making it impossible to breathe. Victoria squeezes her eyes shut against the sensation and listens to Brendon's breathing next to her, the way he snores lightly, ashes settling in his nose and lungs too. Brendon never seems to have any trouble sleeping, back turned to Victoria, even rise and fall of the blankets he's huddled under.   
  
He has nightmares though and the first time she had to wake him from one Victoria had felt relieved. She didn't understand it until later, when she realized how casual Brendon treated everything, how it didn't matter at all. When he slept Victoria could finally see that it did matter to him, that he cared and hurt as much as she did.  
  
Now she usually lets him sleep through the nightmares, stroking his back because it makes him relax. Victoria never understands what he's saying in his sleep, words half mumbled. It reminds her of tour and the same sleep-speak in a raspy and quiet voice but from someone else, someone she usually hears telling crude jokes and singing old pop classics at the top of his lungs. Used to. Used to hear. Sometimes she forgets still, to call it as it is inside her own head.  
  
So in the silence that surrounds their car every night, Victoria spends most of her time listening to Brendon. Every night, eventually, usually after one of his dreams, he tosses and turns. And then he curls against Victoria's side, holding on tightly, but it's not her he's touching with his body. It's someone else and Victoria knows it as clearly as she knows that she doesn't have the strong arms, doesn't have the slender wrists, doesn't have the tousled hair Brendon's looking for. Still, she touches him back, wondering if she's like this too when she's asleep. Holding on to someone who isn't there anymore.  
  
In the morning, when the sunlight pierces the dusty black windows, Brendon always wakes up with a start, jolting Victoria awake too. And every morning she sees it in his eyes, the moment when he recognizes it's her, heart breaking all over again. She knows it's the same feeling she has every time she looks to the driver's seat and realizes it's someone else sitting there, it's Brendon with her now and not someone else.  
  


\--

  
  
“Favorite pizza topping?”  
  
“Mushrooms.”   
  
Victoria stares at Brendon. “Seriously? Mushrooms?”  
  
Brendon shrugs. “I like them.”  
  
“Okay. You're a freak, but okay.” Brendon gives her the finger and Victoria laughs.  
  
The swing set squeaks when she pushes herself back with her feet and starts swinging. Brendon's sitting in the sand, feet tugged up under his body, mixing sand and the ashes.  
  
“Favorite position during sex,” Brendon says and grins at her.  
  
Victoria hates that the question makes her blush, so she says, “Sixty-nine,” just to get a rise out of him.  
  
It doesn't work.   
  
Brendon laughs and says, “Mine too.”   
  
Victoria can't quite tell if he's lying to her or if it's true.  
  
“Okay. Favorite musical instrument,” she says and leans forward into the movement of the swing, pushing herself higher. The sun stings her eyes and she's stirring up the ashes, but Brendon doesn't complain yet, so she doesn't care either.  
  
“Tough one,” he says and raises a hand full of ash-sand, lets it trickle down. “Ukulele. Probably. Yours?”  
  
“Drums.”  
  
“Seriously? Can you play?” He gives her a considering look like he's trying to figure out if she's joking.  
  
Victoria smiles. “I was learning to.” She tries hard not to think about  _who_  was teaching her, but she fails.  
  
She swings up and up and there's not a cloud in the sky.   
  
“Favorite,” she hesitates and falls quiet. There's so much blue above her, bright and untarnished. She can't remember a time when it was like this.  
  
Maybe it's the only good thing to come out of this.  
  
“Favorite flavor of jelly beans,” Brendon says and laughs, loud and sharp, looking straight at her.  
  
Maybe one of the only good things.  
  
Victoria grips the ropes of the swing harder and tries to come up with an answer.  
  


\--

  
  
It's a sunny day when she sees him. Thinks she sees him.   
  
Victoria hits the brakes so hard the car skids off the road. The stones clack under the tires until she gets the van back on the road and kills the motor. Vaguely, she can hear Brendon talking to her but it's just white noise against the single focus in her mind: It's him. She's out of the car, without being aware of moving, running towards the farm house as fast as she can. Even from far away she can see his messy brown hair, nose ring, tiny smirk tilting the corners of his lips upwards.  
  
She yells his name and it carries farther in the still air.  
  
When she reaches the rotting front porch of the house it's not him. It's not even a person. There's a leather jacket, a torn cap, a long towel limply flapping in the wind.  
  
It's nothing but a scarecrow.  
  
Victoria stares at it, blinks rapidly because it still looks like him. The height is not quite right but she can still  _see_  him like a picture superimposed on reality. She doesn't realize she's crying, doesn't realize anything at all until Brendon appears next to her. He's breathing heavily, skin sharp with the smell of sweat. He's shaking her shoulders, talking to her. He looks terrified and Victoria doesn't understand why.  
  
She's not quite sure how she manages to move, to turn away from. Him. But she does, and buries her face against Brendon's chest, trying to see nothing but the greenish color of his t-shirt. The tears feel like they're breaking out of her, leaving stripes on her smudged face.  
  
Brendon holds her in his arms and rubs her back, slowly, mumbling soothing words. She can't stop sobbing, violent hiccups making her whole body shake. From up close Brendon's shirt smells like gasoline and the black ashes and she feels stupid. She's not a fainting damsel in distress; she doesn't need soothing, manly arms to help her keep it together. Biting her lip, she tries to stifle her sobs until she can taste blood on her tongue, and still it feels like it's overwhelming her, like she will never be able to stop crying.  
  
Stupidly she wonders what Brendon's thinking of her now.  
  
"Victoria, hey," Brendon's still rubbing her back, but he's talking a little louder now, not mumbling anymore. Victoria swallows the next sob, coughs, tears running into her open mouth.  
  
Brendon pulls her even closer to him, chests pressed uncomfortably together, and his mouth touches her ear. And he says, "I see them all the time, Victoria. All the time. At the rest stop two miles ago? I thought the shovel in the field with the red scarf was him. And the town before that, there were shadows in an alleyway and I thought it was them. Last night when I woke up and saw my flip flops I thought they were his and I got up to find him."  
  
Victoria listens to Brendon's calm voice, the way he talks, and realizes she's mostly stopped crying, tears drying in thick clumps of black on her cheeks. "All the time," she finally gets out, voice raspy with tears.  
  
"Yes." And Brendon sounds sad but he also sounds like--like. "It helps you," Victoria says into Brendon's shirt, not quite ready to step away and let him see her puffy, snotty face.  
  
She feels him nod more than she sees it. "It's good to know they're still there. I'm scared sometimes that--that I'll forget them."  
  
It makes Victoria pull away finally, looking at Brendon's face. He looks calm despite the two wet spots on his dirty t-shirt. "You could never forget them," Victoria tells him and pulls her own shirt up to wipe at her face. The wind blows against her bare belly and she can hear the ashes move around their feet, a small, rustling sound of movement.  
  
"Maybe," he says thoughtfully and when Victoria looks back at him, hem of her shirt falling back over her bare skin, his eyes flit up guiltily. She pretends she doesn't see and they walk back to the car in silence, sun burning on their skin.  
  


\--

  
  
They hit the outskirts of a bigger city in the late afternoon a few day later. They drive through suburbs, peacefully quiet and empty like a museum at night. Brendon's humming under his breath and Victoria thinks she recognizes a folk tune that used to play on the radio. It makes her miss music even more than she does usually, but she doesn't tell Brendon to stop. He's gotten better lately and she enjoys that, even if she doesn't feel better herself.  
  
It's not even some marked change but something about Brendon's more relaxed. His mouth is losing the down-turned lines, eyes are a little brighter, energy just that little bit more present, making him do ridiculous dance jigs every once in a while. Victoria thinks that maybe this is the real Brendon, the one who doesn't know what it's like to go to a party full of people and come out alone.  
  
Almost alone.  
  
The change from suburban houses to the hard lines of skyscrapers is abrupt. Victoria looks out of the window at black smudged windows that swallow the sunshine. It should be creepy and she knows come nightfall it will be but right now the light rolls through the streets, giving everything a golden glow. All she can think of is that she'd like to take a picture, just one, to remind her that something of before is still here in this world.  
  
"You want to go for a walk?" Brendon asks her and there's the faintest smile on his face, almost as if he's feeling the same thing, the tiniest bit of something. Not hope, never that, but something close enough.  
  
"Yeah," she says and startles herself by smiling at Brendon. He kills the engine in the middle of the road and they get out. It's warm, a soft wind caressing their skin, making the ashes softly sweep around their ankles like waves.  
  
"We should go to the ocean," Victoria says and stands next to Brendon. "After we find Patrick, we should go to the coast."  
  
"We'd have to bring sunscreen though," Brendon says and starts walking down the street, leaving little bursts of black in his wake. Victoria hurries to catch up with him until they walk side by side in a steady pace. "Yeah, Patrick gets sunburned easily," she says contemplatively and Brendon hums in agreement. Neither of them mentions the possibility that Patrick might not be in Chicago.  
  
They keep walking, passing one gray office building after the other, reaching high up into the sky. Victoria tries to imagine this place when it's full of people, bustling with life, but she can't quite see it. The quiet seems so all encompassing just trying to imagine more life here, any sort of life really, seems like a task too difficult to attempt.  
  
"We could have water fights," Brendon says contemplatively, hands swinging by his sides. "And barbecues. And beer. Lots of beer." Victoria laughs and listens to the sound bounce off the side of the buildings they're walking past. Right now, in this moment, it doesn't scare her as much as it did yesterday.  
  
Without thinking Victoria grabs Brendon's hand.   
  
She can feel him startle a little but he doesn't pull away. Brendon laces their fingers together, swings their clasped hands a little.   
  
They keep walking like that, past empty coffee shops full of little rolling hills made up entirely of black ashes.   
  
Victoria feels her hand getting sweaty in Brendon's grasp, but it doesn't seem to bother him so she tries to ignore it.  
  
There's not a particular direction they're going in and at the back of her mind Victoria tries to remember every turn they take so they will be able to find their way back to the car.  
  
Next to her Brendon's craning his neck to look into windows, alleys.  
  
He's probably looking for any sort of supplies they could use. After a while it becomes second nature to you and you don't even realize you're looking for stuff. It's eerie in a way, how all those basic survival instincts are just there, ready to be tapped in case of, well, a catastrophe.  
  
Up ahead a small park comes into view. The iron gates surrounding it are intricately wrought and starting to rust even though Victoria hasn't seen any rain since before all this happened. Curiously, she reaches out with her free hand when they're close enough and touches one of the metal bars.  
  
It creaks loudly and then crumbles away.  
  
Victoria gasps and then immediately clamps her hand over her mouth.  
  
Brendon's stopped short next to her and is staring at the hole in the gates.  
  
“Wow,” he says.  
  
“Do you think it's the ashes?” Victoria asks. “Like maybe they corrode stuff faster?”  
  
Brendon gives her a look. “I'm not sure I want to know.”  
  
They stand there and stare at the hole in the fence.  
  
It takes all of Victoria's willpower to move again, but she can feel the good mood slip through their tangled hands, because of some broken iron of all things.   
  
She looks through the gates and into the park they're surrounding.  
  
There's a statue in the middle, a man on his horse, raising his sword into the air. There's a pair of bright orange sunglasses on his face.  
  
Victoria lets go of Brendon's hand and walks around the fence and through the gates. She's heading straight to the statue and the closer she gets the faster she walks.  
  
Eventually she starts running.  
  
The little pathway is slightly downhill and she's half slipping on the ashes, but she feels like she could run forever, like if she only tried hard enough she could jump and just take off.  
  
When she's standing in front of the statue it's actually a lot taller than it seemed.   
  
Victoria climbs it anyway.  
  
She keeps slipping at first but then she finds a crevice in the concrete block to hoist herself up. By the time she's sitting on the horse's back Brendon's standing down on the ground laughing up at her.   
  
From up here she can see into the upper floor windows of the office building on the opposite side. There are no ashes there.  
  
It makes her happy, a feeling so overwhelming and sudden she has to wrap her hands around the statue man's waist to hold on.  
  
Once she feels a little more secure, breathing more evenly, she stretches up and grabs the sunglasses from the statue's nose.   
  
It's warm from the evening sun.  
  
Down below Brendon whoops loudly and she laughs along with him and puts the sunglasses on.  
  


\--

They take the car outside the city and park close to a deserted 7/11.  
  
Victoria sticks the sunglasses in her hair and takes a deep breath of air. It seems cooler than other nights and she shivers a little.  
  
When she turns around to walk to the back of the car Brendon's standing right behind her.  
  
She blinks at him and opens her mouth to ask him when he developed super stealth powers.  
  
Brendon smiles at her softly and before she can say anything he leans in, presses his lips to hers. It's a tentative kiss that tastes a little like the dust clinging to their skin.  
  
For a moment she feels off-kilter, like the world has tipped sideways, ashes rushing past her feet.  
  
Then she grabs Brendon's hair and pushes him until he's up against the side of the car. Brendon grunts softly and pulls her against him, their lips sliding together, hot and wet.  
  
Victoria can't remember the last time she kissed someone like this. With intent, with meaning.  
  
It's Brendon who finally breaks the kiss. He gently brings their foreheads together; he's breathing heavily.   
  
Victoria blinks and then pulls away. Their eyes meet and for a moment Victoria has no idea what to expect, but then Brendon smiles, gives her another quick peck on the lips before slipping away around the back of the car.  
  
He pops the trunk with a dry click that reminds her of the sound their belt buckles made when he pulled her closer.  
  
They set up their mattress in silence.  
  
That night, just as she's about to fall asleep, Brendon puts his hand on top of hers. She turns it over and laces their fingers together.  
  


\--

  
  
They leave in the early morning. The sun is barely up, so Victoria slips behind the wheel. She waits for Brendon to get in and then hits the gas. They leave a black cloud in their wake, wheel indentations that get swept over on the ground.  
  
The air outside is still cool and fresh, so Victoria rolls down her window and lets the wind sweep through her hair.  
  
Next to her Brendon's humming something she vaguely recognizes. It makes her smile.  
  
So they drive. Around them the country rushes past, highways, dead cars, truck stops and small clouds of black dust.  
  
“Hey,” Brendon says, eventually, “How did you meet Patrick? I mean, the first time.”   
  
Victoria thinks about this. It seems like forever ago, but it almost takes no effort to remember.   
  
“Party, obviously. I think the boys--” she breathes in, runs a hand through her hair, “They threw me a party. A 'welcome to the madness' party. And he was invited, of course.”  
  
Next to her she can see Brendon smile and nod.  
  
“He was so easy to talk to. I mean, I was nervous when they asked me to join, but a whole party full of famous people just for you. I don't know. I just, like, I just felt out of my depth. Actually, though, I think that party was the first time I met Ryan too and he was so--”  
  
Victoria abruptly stops mid-sentence after the name slips out. She can see Brendon flinch and look away.  
  
“Shit, shit. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. You know.” She reaches out to touch his arm, reassure him, but doesn't follow the motion through.  
  
He turns to her and smiles. “It's fine, don't worry about it.” Even if she didn't know him well enough by now she'd know he's lying through his teeth.  
  


\--

  
  
Brendon doesn't say anything for the rest of the day. Victoria drives them through the wasteland, sun stinging her eyes. Brendon curls up on the seat next to her, staring blankly out the window. It's a tense silence and Victoria's itching to say something to break it. She never could stand silences like this, not back on tour when the boys had gotten in a stupid fight over who had dibs on the last Hot Pocket and not now either.  
  
She has to bite her lip to keep from saying anything. It was a stupid slip-up, but she didn't know it would still hurt him like that. It almost feels like it happened just yesterday, the two of them crawling out of the rubble, a quiet hug in the disaster. The Brendon from back then had slowly started to fade away into a livelier version of himself.  
  
Victoria's so wrapped up in her own thoughts she barely notices the change in weather. At first it's subtle. The sky on the horizon turns paler and paler, the clear blue watered down until it barely has any color left.  
  
And then the black clouds start to gather in the sky.  
  
Victoria nervously stares ahead, wondering if this is the second catastrophe, the one that will take care of the rest of them just like the others. For a long time she's wondered at their luck to survive when no one else had. Maybe their time has finally come too.  
  
“Can you stop there?” Brendon suddenly says and Victoria looks to where he's pointing, a small truck stop by the side of the road.  
  
“Sure,” she says. She could use a break as well.  
  
When they pull into the truck stop, there's two cars parked there, doors still open. They get out of their own car and walk into the store. Almost immediately they're enveloped by a cloud of black dust and Victoria starts coughing, holding her hand in front of her mouth.  
  
“I'll get some soda,” Brendon says and wanders off before Victoria can answer.  
  
She makes her way to the back, to the toilet. It stinks like piss and vomit, but years of touring have helped her get used to it.   
  
After she comes out of the bathroom the cloud in the store has settled, but Brendon's nowhere to be seen. She finally spots him outside the store, in front of their car.  
  
The bell over the door clinks softly when she leaves the store. Outside the air is like a solid wall and she looks up into the black sky. While she was inside the sun has completely disappeared and dark storm clouds have gathered overhead. It looks like any second now the storm of the century will crack down around them.  
  
“We have to leave,” she says, walking up to Brendon, but he doesn't move.  
  
When she's close enough she can see what he's staring at. On the ground there are three dead birds she could swear weren't there before. Brendon's holding onto one can of Dr. Pepper, the other one has cracked on the ground, liquid slowly fizzing out and mixing with the bird feathers and the black dust on the ground. Victoria can't help it, she has to look at the birds. They look like they were in a fight, there's feathers everywhere, torn up and scattered around.  
  
“We have to leave,” she says again and puts her hand on Brendon's shoulder. His shirt is damp with sweat and when he turns his head to her, he looks like he's never seen her before.  
  
Then he blinks and the expression is gone, face completely blank.  
  
“I'll drive,” he says. His voice is raspy but even.  
  
Victoria would really rather drive herself, because whatever's going on with Brendon doesn't look like it makes him capable of driving. But there's something in his eyes that she knows will allow no disagreement. She digs the key out of her jeans and hands them to Brendon. He gives her the can of Dr. Pepper in return, before going around to the other side of the car to get in without looking back to see if she's getting in too.  
  
Victoria takes another look at the dead birds. On a whim she kicks up some of the black ashes and they whirl around the dead birds before settling on them, coating them in a thin black veil.  
  
Overhead the dark clouds are starting to drown out more and more of the light. Victoria looks up worriedly as she gets into the car and hopes the storm will pass.  
  


\--

  
  
When the storm breaks it's almost unbearable. At first it's hot, the air damp and electric. The sky is an angry black unlike anything Victoria's seen before. They keep driving regardless, hoping for the storm to pass them by or to drive out of its reach.  
  
Soon it gets so dark they can barely see the horizon.  
  
Then the rain starts.  
  
At first it's just a steady stream of big, fat drops of rain that splatter their windshield. It turns the black dust on the front of the car into sluggish black rivers. Soon the rain picks up though and only gets stronger, drops pelting the roof of their car so hard it's almost deafening. The street in front of them starts swimming and the wheels start slipping more and more often. The temperature drops fast and they have to roll the windows up to keep the heat in.  
  
Still Brendon doesn't stop. He keeps going. Victoria watches him out of the corner of her eyes. Ever since the dead birds she feels on edge, like the brewing storm has gotten into her bones, settled there. And Brendon, he's too quiet, too calm.  
  
The wipers scratch over the windshield, set to the highest setting, and still Victoria can barely see anything. They crawl along the road, tires slip-sliding over the asphalt that's slowly becoming a riverbed.  
  
Finally, Victoria can't bear it any longer. “We need to stop. We can't drive in this weather.”  
  
“No,” Brendon says. He looks straight ahead, foot jittering against the gas pedal.  
  
Victoria can see the strain in the muscles at the back of his neck though. In a way she understands this need to keep going. She feels it too, itching to get ahead when nothing else in this dead world is. But it would be crazy to keep going on a road they don't know, in weather like this. Even if it keeps them from getting to Chicago.  
  
And Patrick.  
  
She reaches for Brendon's biceps, curls her fingers around it. “Stop,” she says and squeezes.   
  
Brendon opens his mouth to say something, then closes it. For a moment she thinks he won't listen again. Then Brendon slows the car down to an even slower crawl and turns his head to look at her. His eyes are wide and tired. With a start Victoria realizes that he's afraid.  
  
She swallows. “There was supposed to be a town around here. Keep going and we'll crash at one of the houses along the way, okay? I'll keep a lookout.”  
  
Brendon nods. He tightens his hands around the wheel and drives.  
  
It takes longer than Victoria expected. The rain is coming down faster and faster. She can barely discern it as single raindrops. They crawl at a snail's pace now because the water on the road has turned into little oceans. She doesn't want to think about it but deep down Victoria's terrified.  
  
The rain keeps pounding on the car roof and every few minutes Victoria looks up to assure herself that there are no dents yet. It's weird but the rain sounds so heavy she thinks any minute now it must break through the car roof. Apart from that it's an oddly quiet storm. The clouds had been so dark Victoria had expected thunder and lightning to the extreme, but nothing. Just torrents of endless heavy rain.   
  
She's just looking up at the roof again so she almost misses the sign by the side of the road, announcing the city limits.  
  
“Fuck, we're almost there,” she says, relief washing over her.   
  
Next to her Brendon nods, speeds up a little. The car slides over the street dangerously but Victoria doesn't say anything about it.   
  
They decide to take the first house they come by.  
  
“Just drive up to the front door,” Victoria says and Brendon does. They run over a mailbox and skitter over the little pathway leading up to the front door. It's slightly ajar and in front of it is a big pile of the black dust. It looks like a melting pile of ash now and Victoria swallows, trying to ignore the uneasiness. If the owners of the house were just coming home when it happened, then at least the house is free of the black stuff.  
  
Brendon parks sideways in front of the house, just a foot away from the door. Victoria takes a deep breath before she opens the car door. It takes all her power to push it open against the torrential rain and even though she runs to the front door, she is soaked through the moment her body is outside the car. She almost trips on the black ash by the door step, stumbles into the entrance hall of the house. Brendon's right behind her, panting, car keys in hand.  
  
“Fuck,” he says quietly, breath heavy.   
  
Victoria silently agrees.  
  


\--

  
  
They decide to sleep in the master bedroom, even though it's a little eerie in this empty house. Victoria feels like she's breaking and entering even though she knows for a fact that neither of the owners will ever come home nor will there be any police to arrest her.   
  
Still.  
  
“I'll change the sheets so we can sleep in the bed,” she says to Brendon, who's just been standing by the door to the bedroom, like he needed an invitation to enter.  
  
“Shower,” he finally says and she just nods absently, trying to find something in the linen closet that doesn't have endless flowers on it.  
  
Brendon quietly slips past her into the adjoining bathroom.  
  


\--

  
  
Victoria changes the sheets on the bed, quick, methodical without trying to think too much about the couple who have slept here before them. She takes the pile of books on the right-side night table and puts them under the bed. It makes it easier to sit down and look at the room like a hotel room, impersonal and not lived in.  
  
Of course there's still the paintings on the wall, modern art pictures with lots of twisted lines in bright orange colors. There's a window to the left of the bed that looks out into the dark nothingness of the storm outside. Victoria gets up and pulls the curtains shut. When she wanders back to the bed she comes across the little desk tucked into a corner. There's a half started letter on it. It reads: “Ann, remember to book the tickets for Bali. I finally got the time off and we should do it now, before your horrible parents decide to visit again. I'll --”   
  
Victoria picks the letter up, looks at the neat, orderly handwriting. Then she folds it and puts it on top of a pile of newspapers on the desk.  
  
When she goes to sit down on the bed she realizes that Brendon still hasn't come out of the shower.  
  
“Hey, Brendon, shouldn't you be all clean by now?” She yells.  
  
There's no answer.  
  
Outside a gust of wind splashes the rain against the window. Victoria gets up, not quite sure if it's okay for her to go into the bathroom. Somewhere in the house a clock quietly starts ringing out the hours. The lights in the bedroom are on but Victoria still feels a chill down her spine, like she shouldn't be here at all.  
  
She goes to the bathroom door and knocks. “Brendon, hey, Brendon. Is everything alright?”  
  
There's no answer.  
  
Victoria puts her hand on the door handle, then hesitates. Outside the rain is picking up even more, wind howling around the house. She brushes back a wet strand of hair, then takes a deep breath and opens the door.  
  
The bathroom is relatively small, half of it dominated by the shower. Victoria almost trips over Brendon's clothes on the floor on her way in. Brendon is standing in the shower under the spray, head against the tile of the wall. He's not moving.  
  
“Brendon?” Victoria tries to sound reassuring, but she's freaking out. Whatever the hell is going on with Brendon, she has no clue what to do. When he still doesn't react, she mentally steels herself and makes a decision.  
  
She realizes that stepping into the shower fully clothed was probably a bad idea when the spray hits her jeans and soaks them through, makes them heavy as hell. Brendon still doesn't react when she calls his name, so she carefully reaches out and touches his naked shoulder. He doesn't flinch but shudders a little when she pulls him against her, wraps her arms around his torso.   
  
It's a bit awkward because Victoria is fully aware that Brendon's naked and quite possibly crying, his shoulders shaking a little now that she's close enough to see it. The water from the shower head is still warm though, so Victoria waits him out, mumbles soothing things against the nape of Brendon's neck. It feels so intimate and Victoria feels incredibly out of her depth. She wonders if she can manage to get Brendon out of the water. It feels like the sensible thing to do.  
  
“Brendon, come on, let's--” she starts, but he interrupts her, like he didn't hear a word she said.  
  
“We met at the party. They—they called us because they wanted to meet. And I didn't know why but of course we went. We  _were_  still friends.” Brendon's talking fast and quietly, barely audible over the sound of the water in the shower, but Victoria's close enough to hear. She holds him tighter, her wet t-shirt sticking to his back. She hums quietly to let him know she's listening, even though he doesn't actually seem to notice she's there.  
  
“We planned a reunion. At the party, when it happened. We planned to reunite as Panic! for a few shows to see how it would work out. Patrick knew and he told me to try it, why not, right? And just the thought of it, us, being on the road again together. Being at that party was like the split never happened.”  
  
Victoria bites her lip, tears welling up in her eyes. Brendon sounds so hopeful and now she understands how it must feel to have this possibility, a reunion with his band, be yanked away, a fix of something that must still hurt like a thorn in the side. And now it's all gone. Scattered away like the black ash coating the world around them.  
  
It's not like her band was anywhere near a break-up or anything, but she feels the same deep hurt Brendon does of having the possibilities just disappear. No more tours, no more studio sessions, no more crazy parties with all of their friends.  
  
Victoria closes her eyes and holds on to Brendon because she can't think of anything else to do.  
  


\--

  
  
When they step out of the house the next day, the sky is blue again, sun sharply burning their eyes. Victoria holds up her hand in front of her face. It looks like the storm never happened. But their car is completely washed clean of the black dust.  
  
She looks around and only sees faint traces of it in the earth by the side of the road, black blotches here and there. The air is warm again and the sun has mostly dried up the asphalt outside. Their car tires have sunk a bit in the flower beds by the front door, but not deep enough to give them any trouble.   
  
Victoria shrugs out of her jacket and opens the car door. There's an ache high between her shoulder blades. She feels tired even though they easily slept for ten hours as far she can tell. It wasn't restful sleep though.   
  
Brendon visibly hesitates on the other side, hand on the door to the driver's side. Then he gets in, just like Victoria.  
  
Silence reverberates in the car once the doors are shut.  
  
Brendon starts the motor, shifts into gear and pulls the car away from the house. The earth under the tires noticeably squelches away and then they hit asphalt. Brendon goes a little faster, straight ahead, endless road stretching in front of them and Victoria has the sudden urge to grab him and shake him.  
  
“Patrick's dead,” she says, and a small part of her recoils at the harsh sound of her own voice, at the truth she knew all along, nagging little voice at the back of her mind.  
  
Brendon flinches but doesn't say anything. It's answer enough.  
  
Victoria wants to say more because if Patrick's dead where the hell are they even driving? Maybe she even says it out loud, because Brendon looks at her and then reaches for her arm. She shakes him off.  
  
There's a headache forming behind her eyes and when she brushes her hair out of her face, she realizes she's crying. She turns her forehead against the window and lets the tears fall, trying not to think of anything at all.  
  
For a while she counts her own breaths, inhale and exhale, like a trade-off. Eventually, she stops crying, rubs the smudged black lines from her eyes. Victoria tries to remember a time she ever felt this defeated and all she can think of his high school, when Sara Newton told her she thought lesbians were gross and that she really had no interest in Victoria. Back then it had felt like the world would end. Ironically, it felt nothing like when the world actually did collapse on itself.  
  
She tries to remember how she got over Sara, if it was just time that numbed the pain.  
  
And then the car comes to an abrupt, screeching halt.   
  
Victoria almost hits her head on the car window. She tries to get her bearings, to figure out if they ran something over. When she looks up there's nothing. She turns to see if Brendon's alright. He's looking right at her, eyes wide and determined.  
  
“This is bullshit,” he says.   
  
Victoria blinks at him.  
  
“I mean,” Brendon fidgets with his seatbelt, frustrated, then finally gets it unbuckled and turns further towards her. “I know we didn't choose this. I know we didn't. It was dumb luck or fate or whatever, I don't know. But we're here and they're not.”  
  
Victoria has to look away at that, because fuck, even if she knows it's true it still hurts. Brendon taps her knee with his fingers.   
  
“Hey. Victoria, hey.” She turns to look at him again and he grabs her hand. “I know this sucks and I know you'd rather not be here with just me. But that's how it is and I didn't go through this crap just to give up now.”  
  
Victoria looks at Brendon and all she can see is the man crying in the shower last night. She swallows.   
  
Brendon looks away from her and out of the front window. He's absently stroking the back of her hand with his thumb.  
  
“When we were in the cabin, a couple of years ago to write the second album, we spent about a month writing this ridiculous musical. Ryan,” Brendon takes a breath after he's said the name, carefully lets it out. “Ryan wanted our second one to be so absurdly different from the first that no one could compare the two. This is how we avoid the sophomore slump, he said. I think Spence laughed himself sick for a whole hour after he said it.”   
  
Victoria looks more intently at Brendon now, the way he's staring ahead like he's seeing that cabin in front of him again.  
  
“When we—broke up and he and Jon started their own band, we. We didn't talk. Not for a while. I think Spencer took it the hardest. But one day he came back from getting the mail. This was when we were already living together. And there was a CD in the mail. It was from Ryan, no note.”  
  
Brendon almost smiles now and Victoria turns her hand without thinking, interlaces their fingers. Startled, Brendon looks at her and then he does smile. “It was the musical. They finished it and sent it to us.”  
  
Victoria feels a lump rise in her throat, because to hear Brendon talk about his friends so freely just makes it all the harder to think about the fact that they're not here anymore. She closes her eyes and silently counts to ten. Before she can reach four, Brendon's already tugging at her seatbelt, then her shoulders. She opens her eyes just in time to see Brendon frown at her and then lightly tap his knuckle to her forehead.   
  
“Stop thinking about all the bad things,” he says quietly, “It won't get you anywhere. They're gone but they're also still here. Remember that time Gabe and William made that fake sex vid and sent it to everyone? Or when Ryland and Pete took those stupid mushrooms and were high for like a week? Those are the things you should remember. Everything else will hurt less with time. I promise.”  
  
Instead of an answer, Victoria leans forward, pressing her head against Brendon's shoulder. Without hesitation he wraps his arms around her shoulders. Victoria turns her head to the side to look out the front window at the sun making the asphalt shimmer with heat.   
  
“What was the musical about?” She finally asks.  
  
Brendon laughs and it softly jostles her head on his shoulder.  
  
“Wolves. It was a wolf burlesque. Ian and Dallon actually added to it until it sort of turned into a creepy stalker fairytale. Like  _Twilight_  or something with less vampires. Ryan loved it, of course. We wanted to play it when we--” he breaks off and Victoria thinks again of the day before it all happened and what it must have felt like to hope for a reunion only to get your hopes crushed. “We were going to tour with it,” Brendon finishes.   
  
“I'm sure Pete would've loved that,” Victoria says. “Fuck music industry conventions, Panic! At the Disco is now a musical troupe.”  
  
Brendon huffs out another laugh, then he gently pulls away from Victoria. She still feels a little raw around the edges when he looks at her, but for some reason saying their names, her friends' names, out loud made their loss less terrible. Like they were still here somehow.   
  
“So.” Brendon gives her a curious look. “Are we still going to Chicago?”  
  
Victoria thinks about it for a moment and surprises herself when she realizes that she still wants to go, whether Patrick's there or not. They can always figure out what to do when they eventually get there.   
  
“Yes,” she says and gives him a small smile.  
  
“Okay,” Brendon says and runs a hand through his hair almost automatically. “Okay.”  
  
For a moment neither of them move, eyes caught on each other. Then Victoria leans forward and impulsively presses a kiss to Brendon's lips. It lasts for just a brief second, but when she's pulling away Brendon's hand is reaching for her hair, fingers brushing against her ear.   
  
She grins and makes a face. “Sorry, I just,” she waves her hand and Brendon laughs.   
  
“Way to go to ease the tension, Asher,” he says.  
  
She cuffs his shoulder and buckles her belt again. “Way to go on the motivational speech, Urie.”  
  
Brendon buckles his belt with a resounding click and starts the car. “I try my best,” he says, and the car lurches forward as he stirs it back to the middle of the street.  
  


\--

  
  
The atmosphere in the car feels a lot better after they've stopped. Victoria feels almost—not happy, that is the wrong word, but something close to it. Lighter, maybe.   
  
Brendon looks at ease behind the wheel like he hasn't in quite some time and Victoria's eyes catch on the tattoo on his arm, flowers lit up by the sunshine from outside. Without thinking she reaches out and squeezes his shoulder and he looks at her and just smiles.   
  
Victoria's never seen him smile like that. She feels an answering smile grow on her face.   
  
She remembers the kiss he gave her, up against the car days ago, and has to look away so he doesn't see her blush.  
  


\--

  
  
They reach the outskirts of the Chicago suburbs in the early evening. Victoria feels the anticipation in her whole body, like something is about to happen, but if they keep driving now they'll reach the city in the middle of the night. Victoria's not really thrilled by the idea of walking the empty Chicago streets by night. She knows this city too well and seeing it empty like that, well, she's not sure she wants to experience how it feels.  
  
Brendon seems to agree, because he points out a motel by the side of the road to stop at for the night. Motels still give Victoria the creeps, even after years of sleeping in them, but this one almost looks cheery, clean yellow lines, even bricks and neatly lined doors.  
  
They park the car and get out.  
  
“I'll go find some keys,” Brendon says and heads for the reception.   
  
Victoria walks around, leans against the side of the car, watching as the sun finally goes down on the horizon. It's still mild and the red lines streaking the sky look warm and inviting rather than unsettling.   
  
A few moments later, Brendon comes back with a set of keys, triumphant look on his face. Victoria's startled by how easy it looks on his face. He keeps brushing his hair from his eyes as he walks and she looks at the way the muscles play in his arms until he catches up to her and tosses her the motel room key. They have number 23.  
  
When they get their bags out of the car Brendon's shoulder brushes hers and on a whim she shoves back. Brendon yelps, and then, before she knows it, he grabs her around the waist hauls her up and throws her over his shoulder. Victoria screams high-pitched and surprised, because Brendon certainly doesn't look strong enough for this.  
  
“Put me down, put me down,” she gets out, voice a little breathless.   
  
He laughs, “Never, you're mine.” He stretches the last word so it almost sounds like a Southern accent. It reminds Victoria of a cheesy movie line, like something out of  _Gone with the Wind_  and she slaps her hand against his ass so he'll put her down.  
  
Brendon laughs and she feels it all through her body where they touch. It's an electric feeling and for a long moment she forgets everything and laughs right along with Brendon.  
  
He carries her back to the car then and slowly sets her down. Victoria wobbles a little on her feet and when Brendon steadies her, he presses her back against the car. It's not entirely on accident and not entirely unpleasant. Victoria looks at Brendon, the way the corners of his mouth rise ever so slightly when he sees she's watching. Victoria's very aware that she's breathing heavily and licks her lips, watches Brendon's eyes flicker down and then back up to her eyes.  
  
“Let's go inside,” he says finally and his voice sounds perfectly even, but she can see him playing with the room keys in his hand unconsciously.  
  


\--

  
  
The door sticks a little, but when Brendon leans his shoulder against it, it opens up easily enough. He turns on the light and Victoria following close behind stops short. It's possibly the nicest motel room she has ever seen. The walls are painted in a warm yellow; the comforter on the big bed looks almost like in a little bed & breakfast. The carpet is spotless and smooth and she slips out of her shoes before she even knows she's doing it.  
  
Brendon walks further into the room as Victoria closes the door behind her. He puts his bag next to the bed, slips out of his shoes and tugs off his coat, before he sits on the bed. Victoria puts her bag next to his and then sits down next to him.  
  
Brendon looks over at her. Somewhere in the room a clock ticks, slow and even. Neither of them move. Under her feet Victoria can feel the carpet softly give in when she flexes her feet against it.   
  
Brendon leans a little closer, his shoulder brushing hers. Victoria feels a little like she did at seventeen, right before Tim Miller in his bedroom had reached for her blouse and started unbuttoning it.  
  
“Are you trying to proposition me, Mr. Urie?” she asks, and wants to disappear into a hole in the floor the moment she says it. This is ridiculous.  
  
Brendon smiles. “Yeah.” He pauses. “I know this is a bit, well. With everything going on,” he waves his hand around in a move to encompass everything around them.  
  
“Well, it did take the apocalypse to finally have me spend a night in a motel room that doesn't look like something out of a slasher movie,” Victoria says and gets up, “So I think we shouldn't let it go to waste.”  
  
Brendon looks at her curiously and Victoria tries not to think too hard about it when she takes off her jacket and then goes for the button on her jeans. She focuses on her hands, opens the button, pulls the zipper down and then tugs at her jeans.  
  
“There's really no graceful way to get out of these,” she finally says and when she looks up Brendon's laughing a little, but his eyes are dark and intense and she feels relieved, didn't know she was nervous about reading things wrong until now.  
  
Brendon holds out his hand to her and at first she doesn't understand what he's trying to do, but she takes it without hesitation. Brendon pulls her closer until she's standing between his legs and then he tugs on her jeans until they slip down, pool around her feet. Brendon leans down and taps her right calf. “Up, up,” he says and Victoria giggles, puts her hand on his shoulder for support and obediently lifts up her right foot. He tugs her jeans off and then her sock, repeats the process on her left foot and then carelessly throws her jeans off to the side. It's tender in a way that makes her breathe easier, less nervous now.  
  
“Your turn,” Victoria says, standing in front of him in just her t-shirt and panties.   
  
Brendon gets up and pulls his shirt over his head, letting it drop by his side. Then he opens his pants, hesitates a moment before he shimmies out of them. It looks a lot smoother than when Victoria did it and Brendon grins at her because he's probably thinking the same.  
  
“So,” he says when they're standing there in front of each other in just their underwear. Instead of an answer Victoria takes a step forward and kisses him. Brendon wraps one arm around her waist to pull her in closer, but the kiss is slow and unhurried. She can feel the warmth of his skin through her t-shirt and his erection nudge against her hip, and then Brendon's mouth opens against hers and she forgets all of it.   
  
There's a precision to Brendon's kiss like he's been doing nothing but kiss her for all of his life and his tongue sliding against hers feels like more than just a kiss somehow. Brendon's hand slips down and under her shirt a little, his fingers warm points of pressure against her skin.   
  
Victoria breaks away from the kiss, a little breathless and flushed. “Hold on,” she says, “I have to--” Brendon looks a little confused but also a lot disheveled, his hair sticking up at the side, two bright red spots high on his cheeks. He doesn't say anything when she turns around to look for her bag by the side of the bed. She finds it shoved halfway under the edge of the comforter and opens a side pocket, fumbling past lipstick and tampons to finally find a condom.   
  
When she pulls it out and straightens back up Brendon's sitting on the bed again and watching her. He tries to look casual but there's a visible bulge in his boxer shorts and he's tugging at a loose strand in the comforter.  
  
Victoria walks around the corner of the bed again but stops short in front of Brendon. She's nervous again. There's always a difference between kissing and actually going through with it. Sure they both know that there is something there, has been there actually since he offered her that drink at the party forever ago, back before all of this, and introduced himself as, “Brendon Urie, from that band with those other guys over there,” and then laughed when he realized that they'd already met years before.  
  
But that was a different Brendon Urie than the one who's sitting here with her now, less world weary maybe, more happy even. That Brendon Urie hadn't looked at her like he does now, strong, intent eyes.  
  
“Hey, Vicky-T. Come here.” He never called her that before and it sounds foreign coming from him, but she closes the gap between them. Brendon grabs her hips and pulls her into his lap. She feels his dick press against her panties and automatically rocks against him, pressure of it making her body heat up. Brendon's mouth opens slightly and he pulls her in even closer.  
  
Victoria's still awkwardly holding the condom in her hand, when Brendon grabs it from her and puts it to the side of the bed.  
  
“It's okay if we don't,” he says quietly and leans forward to kiss her, slow and easy.   
  
Victoria curls her hand into the hair at the nape of his neck and leans closer until her lips brush his ear, “Not okay with me,” she says and feels Brendon's smile pressed into her shoulder.  
  
“In that case you should probably take off all your clothes,” Brendon says, but doesn't give her enough time before he's tugging at the hem of her t-shirt insistently and lifting it off over her head. She laughs and reaches behind herself to undo her bra clasp. It takes her a moment, because it's twisted around and Brendon's hands smoothing over her belly keep distracting her, but then the catch gives and she shrugs out of it.  
  
Brendon's hands trace up her sides, cup her breasts, thumbs stroking over her nipples and Victoria moans low in her throat. He leans in, licks one of her nipples experimentally before sucking it in his mouth and carefully biting down.  
  
“Shit, Brendon.” He pulls back and smiles. Victoria shakes her head and slides off his lap, crawls up on the bed. The comforter is tucked in at the corners so it takes her a moment to pull it free and far enough down so she can lie on the sheets. She can feel Brendon hover behind her and when she turns on her back he's right there, kissing her until she's gasping for air.  
  
Brendon bites lightly at her throat, before he moves down, trailing kisses between her breasts. Victoria squirms underneath him, runs her hand through his hair and tugs him back up to kiss him.  
  
“Get with it,” she mumbles against his lips and Brendon snorts, but obediently sits up to get his underwear off. Victoria does the same. She feels raw and exposed, but the look Brendon gives her when he turns back to her, sees her completely naked, makes it worth it. She sits up to grab for the condom at the same time Brendon leans down to kiss her again and they almost butt heads.   
  
“Sorry, sorry,” Brendon says at the same moment her hand closes around the condom wrapper.  
  
“It's fine, just let me--” She bites her lip, rips open the packet and curls one hand around Brendon's dick. Brendon goes completely still and she can feel the tension radiating off him. Victoria rolls the condom on slowly, taking her time before leaning back, braced on her arms.  
  
“You're a tease,” Brendon says and his voice is rough but happy. He wraps his hand around his dick and stretches out on top of her.  
  
The first push in is too fast, too much, but Victoria rolls with it, concentrates on relaxing. Brendon's mouth is pressed against her collar bone, warm and open, straining to take it nice and slow.  
  
Victoria doesn't want slow.  
  
She wraps her legs around his waist, angles her hips up and rocks forward so Brendon slips all the way inside.  
  
“Fuck,” he says reverently and she has to agree.  
  
They find a rhythm easily enough, fast and precise, Brendon rocking his hips against her in time to their uneven breaths. Victoria can't stop stroking her hands over Brendon's back, feeling all that warm skin, a thin sheen of sweat making her fingers slip and slide.  
  
Brendon slides his hands between their bodies, thumb pressing hard against Victoria's clit and she moans and squirms under him. It takes her an embarrassingly short time before she comes and when she does she bites his shoulder until it bruises. Brendon only fucks her harder, hips snapping back and forth, sending thrills through her sensitized skin.   
  
He comes shortly after her and she holds him through it as his rhythm falters and he finally collapses on top of her, hair wet from sweat and sticking to his forehead. It takes him a few breaths to move again, slip out of her. He ties the condom up and throws it in the general direction of the waste paper basket and misses.  
  
“Fuck, that was good,” Victoria says. She rolls on her side, hand curling against Brendon's belly. She leans in to kiss him and he kisses back, easy and private like they've been together for years.  
  
“Yeah,” he agrees, content look on his face. He's already falling asleep as he's speaking.  
  
Victoria pulls the blankets over them both and pulls Brendon closer.  
  
“Night,” Brendon mumbles and closes his eyes.  
  
Victoria waits for a few heartbeats, making sure he's asleep, before she says, “I feel better,” because well, she does and it's so weird that this was what she needed at least for right now. Brendon must have heard anyway because he loops his arm around her waist and fits her to him.  
  
Victoria lies there and thinks she will probably need a while before she can fall asleep.  
  
A few seconds later her eyes fall closed and the last things she hears is Brendon muttering something in his sleep.  
  


\--

  
  
“This is it,” Brendon says in the car, the next day, and Victoria thinks it's kind of a ridiculous thing to say, given that they're just driving into Chicago, but she also knows what he means.  
  
“I'm nervous,” she says finally and Brendon gives her a sideways look, like he's surprised she's admitting it out loud.  
  
“Me too,” he says and reaches over to squeeze her hand. Already it feels familiar in a way Victoria can't quite explain. She scoots forward in her seat a bit and feels the muscles in her body protest, pleasantly aching.   
  
“You know the way to Patrick's place?”   
  
Brendon nods.  
  
“Been there a couple of times. It's not too far away.”  
  
Victoria looks ahead, skyscrapers rising in front of them into the clear blue sky. The sidewalk is covered in black ash hills that tip sideways, slight wind carrying them away. She wonders if everyone went outside to see what was coming or if they were just surprised on their way home from parties and late night dinners or work.  
  
Brendon almost absently reaches out to brush her hair behind her ear and she smiles a little at his obvious mindfulness of her, but doesn't say anything. It's nice in a way, to know he's still this concerned for her. It reminds her a little of, well, Gabe. He'd prank her one moment, swapping all her clean underwear for dirty boxers, and rub her neck the next moment and whisper in her ear how happy he was she was with them. In a way Brendon reminds her of that and it's curious how that feels a little like home.  
  
She almost misses it when the first few familiar streets start appearing and then they're in the heart of the city. Brendon's driving slower, trying to avoid all the stalled cars and then they're there.  
  
Patrick's apartment building looks just as peaceful as all the others around it. Deathly quiet and perfectly still.  
  
They get out of the car without saying a word and walk through the black dust on the ground. It reaches well past Victoria's knees but it takes almost no effort to walk through it. They stop in front of the door that leads into the building.  
  
“This is it,” Victoria says again stupidly and Brendon turns to her, frames her face with his hands and kisses her, like they're about to visit friends for a dinner party, instead of putting all their hopes on the line to be snuffed out in the next moment.  
  
“Come on,” he says when he pulls away and they go into the lobby. They take the stairs up to the twelfth floor, not really trusting the elevators.   
  
Victoria's slightly out of breath when they step into the hall and walk towards Patrick's apartment side by side, their shoulders brushing.  
  
When they reach it, the door is slightly ajar and Brendon pushes it open with one hand, gesturing for Victoria to go in first.  
  


\--

  
  
They stand in Patrick's apartment and there's nothing there, not even black dust, except for thin lines outside the windows overlooking the perfect vista of Chicago. They split up. Victoria checks the bathroom, the toilet and the walk-in closet. Brendon looks in the kitchen and the guest room. They find each other again in the living room.  
  
There's no one here.  
  
Victoria looks at the empty couch and feels hollow, like a curtain fell away and there was nothing behind it. She can hear Brendon breathing heavily next to her and doesn't turn to see the look on his face. She's not sure she could deal with it right now.  
  
Finally she stretches out her hand blindly and takes Brendon's. His fingers curl around hers, palm clammy with sweat.   
  
"Let's go," he finally whispers into the eerie silence of the apartment.  
  
“Yeah,” she whispers back. “Let's go to the beach next, okay?”  
  
Brendon squeezes her hand a little too hard.  
  
They turn and head back for the door.  
  
Then they stop short.   
  
There are words, haphazardly sprayed in red paint on the back of the door.   
  
 _At A &K. Patrick._  
  
Brendon exhales slowly. “Let's go,” he says again, but this time with more purpose in his voice.  
  
Maybe he even smiles.  
  
Victoria reaches for the door and pulls it open.


End file.
